


Number 83

by unkissed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3289415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I remember when that shirt was new, when it was three sizes too large, but Jamie's absolute favorite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Number 83

**Author's Note:**

> For Jamie, Teddy's favorite Chaser

 

I remember when that shirt was new, when it was three sizes too large, but Jamie’s absolute favorite. 

 

Number 83 on Puddlemere United – Preston Mansfield, Chaser, MVP of the season in 2016.  Every Puddlemere fan wanted that quidditch kit shirt that year. There weren’t many left at the official Puddlemere United shop and that’s why he got one for his thirteenth birthday that didn’t fit him.  Maybe he’d grow into it.  Maybe he’d just wear it to matches and it wouldn’t matter that it was too big.

 

But Jamie wore it all the time. At least, he wore it nearly every time I’d seen him when I visited during breaks from university. Even at Christmas dinner, I’d see the long hem of the shirt sticking out from underneath a jumper that his gran had knit.  I could only assume that Jamie wore it whenever he wasn’t wearing his Gryffindor robes.

 

By the time he was fifteen, Jamie had filled it out, and by then, the shirt was becoming threadbare.  But he wouldn’t let anybody repair the little rips. When we started sleeping together, he’d wear it to bed, and by then, the little rips had become holes. The colors had faded, and the cotton had been thoroughly beaten into submission from years of wash and wear. The fabric was soft and shabby, and snuggling up to him at night was akin to nuzzling a tattered, well-loved teddy bear. It was such a part of him, more than any other garment, that it took on his scent despite being laundered.

 

 

Jamie now lies in my bed – nineteen, fit as _fuck_ , still wearing that shirt even though it barely covers him.  He’s got his own Puddlemere quidditch kit now – Number 98, Chaser. He won’t be MVP this season, or any year for that matter, until he’s off the reserves.

 

“Mansfield still your idol?” I ask as I cover his body with mine.

 

“Mansfield was a fucking joke,” he says with a quiet laugh, “After he made MVP, he washed up right quick.  Fame got to his head and he got too distracted. Hit by one too many bludgers. Demoted to second string the next season.”

 

“Seriously?”  I never followed the sport very closely.  I pretty much absorbed what little knowledge I had by osmosis, from being around fans.  “The way you wore his jersey all the time, I thought he was your hero.”

 

Jamie bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he was looking coy.

 

“What’s so special about his shirt, then?” I ask, curious.

 

“You gave it to me,” he admits as he folds his arms behind my neck. 

 

I can feel the soft cotton against my bare skin and it is as familiar as his touch.  All these years, Jamie hadn’t been wearing Preston Mansfield.  He’d been wearing me.  He’d been wearing my friendship and my kinship and my love.

 

 

When Jamie is twenty-two, he’ll wear my ring and I’ll make a promise to him – but he’ll still wear the old Mansfield shirt. When he’s twenty-five, Jamie will hang up his Puddlemere United jersey as his number retires with him. And only then will Jamie stop wearing Mansfield.

 

Because he’ll be wearing _my_ name.

 

 


End file.
